


The Widow's Father

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Rescue Missions, Tarantulas is a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6424801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarantulas hears that his daughter has been captured by Autobots on Earth.<br/>He is not a happy spider daddy.</p><p>Edit: Autocorrect said Window instead of Widow and I'm a moron</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Tarantulas used in this fic is not exactly the same as the one from Beast Wars- they share a lot of similarities, but I've tried to make him more distinct so he's more like an OC with a canon name slapped on  
>  ~~also he's kinda gay for Optimus here~~

The first sign of something wrong was always subtle, almost invisible as the slightest nudge against Optimus’ EM field.

The Matrix didn't let him simply ignore it, though. It stirred behind the walls of his spark chamber, a rising chorus of ancient warnings lilting up to his audios and reaching a near-deafening echo in his processor. His cables snapped straight, optics scanning over every inch of the base foyer, yet the danger stayed stubbornly hidden and the Matrix practically vibrated with fear in his chest. And though he tried to keep his wariness under control, there was an inevitable quirk of eyeridges all around him when he kept staring at the empty tunnel leading out of the base, expecting something to come barrelling out of the darkness. 

Arcee was the one about to ask what the Pit he was doing when the anomaly finally made itself known- a low, bottomless hum from above that shook through the foundations of the mountain and the roots of its rocks. From underground, it sounded like a spaceship making its descent, but far too muffled to be the familiar roar of the Jackhammer's engines. 

Now everyone was following Prime’s stare toward the quaking ceiling, and Bulkhead was the first to speak. “Uh, Optimus? Are we expecting anyone…?” 

“Not that I am aware of,” he answered grimly, just before his battlemask slid into place over his scowl. “Autobots, assume defensive positions!”

Everyone, even Ratchet by his console, had weaponry deployed and centered on either one of the two only entrances aside from Ground Bridging. The hum had ceased by now, though it left behind a ringing thrum in everyone’s frames. Then there was a steady whirr, the faint sound of the elevator sliding down to foyer level, making everyone doubt just how well hidden the entrance really was. 

The doors opened, and no one was there. Sighs of relief, suspicions of faulty wiring and nothing else, and lowered servos came a nanoklick too early; before a plum orb rolled out from the elevator shaft and clattered across the floor, nudging against Optimus’ ped with barely a ping. He only had time to notice the faint glow of green, blinking glyphs on the surface before a hissing cloud of acid-green vapour escaped from it. Within seconds he was blinded by thick clouds, and in even less time his armour was burning. 

“Optimus!” So many voices calling for him, for anyone in the chaos, he couldn't keep track. Scraping peds, floating cries, a strange thumping sound that he only realised was that of frames hitting the wall when his own back collided with a ceiling strut. When he tried to deploy his blaster he found something glueing his servos down, and no matter how his chest heaved he couldn't lift it more than an inch from the wall sticking to him. For all he knew, his armour was melting into the structure of the base- at least, that's how it felt. The glass screen of his optics protected them from whatever damage the mist was doing to his plating, but his outer cables were becoming dangerously loose by the time the fog faded to a mist clinging to the suspended frames of all the groaning Autobots. Arcee fused to the west wall, Ratchet restrained in a corner, even Bulkhead was reduced to a wriggling mountain of smoking green armour. And each of them had the same bands of white strands disabling them, the same ones that tied Optimus himself into nothing more than a struggling monument. 

But something distracted him from pulling against his bonds- someone, a figure that caused nightmares in even some Decepticons, and one that was standing on two spindly rods like he owned the place. Convenient, considering he practically did at this point. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glint on his gold crest and inlays, adding new points to the sharp knives of his curving horns and highlighting those of his curled talons.

“Now I'll only ask this once… which of you do I have to slice open to get my daughter back?” He seemed to glide forwards on the tips of his razors as he swept a narrow glare over the circle of prisoners around him, soaking his voice in equal parts courtesy and venom that turned his threat into a deadly cocktail. As his optics alighted on Optimus, the Prime noticed they were the same green shade as the gas that managed to reduce them all to blind sparklings, and he remembered them from a thousand horror stories during the war.

“Optimus, who is thi-?” Arcee’s mouth was targeted by another zipping shot of web, and her question was nothing more than a desperate mumble behind the millions of strands blocking it. 

The mech tutted, swiping his glossa over jutting fangs as he picked his way closer to Arcee. “You really shouldn't talk with your mouth full, dear.” Though the mech didn't touch her, he was only inches away from grazing her exposed plates. Blue optics were pleading up at Optimus even as he kept pushing against the webbing around his wrists, and the Prime only found the will to speak when Arcee tried to flinch away from a razor snicking dangerously close to her faceplate.

“Tarantulas…” As Optimus hoped, the mention of his name drew the spider’s attention away from her. The war hadn't dented his vanity, and he abandoned his attention on Arcee to lavish it on Optimus instead. “One of the Decepticons most barbaric scientists. And... Airachnid's sire.”

Tarantulas fixed him with an infamously charming grin overflowing with venom, thin strings dripping between his teeth. More than one Autobot testified to Decepticons being cannibals during the war, with denta carved to pierce into fuel lines and drain living frames dry. Optimus wouldn't have been surprised if Tarantulas was the reason for those rumours, if he thought anyone could survive even seeing him.

“I'm flattered my reputation precedes me so, Prime. And I'm sure you also know how… impatient I can get.” The spider’s legs stabbed into the wall at Optimus’s back and forced Tarantulas’ body as a focal point; as if the webs didn't trap Prime well enough. “So I'll ask again, since those audios must be millennia old by now. Where. Is. My. Daughter?” Each word degraded into a hiss the closer Tarantulas hovered his face against Optimus’, with the Prime expecting to feel acid spit burning against his cheeks. Looking behind Tarantulas, it seemed the whole team was still dazed by the suddenness of the attack, able to do little else but wriggle uselessly on the walls. 

“You should not need to question anyone…” Optimus tried to reason, at the same time trying to angle his faceplate away from the spider’s narrow stare. “Surely you can sense her… through her spark.” He resisted the temptation to ask if his spawn even had a spark.

Tarantulas cocked his helm, throwing off a glare from his gold inlays that almost blinded Optimus and at least spared him from the spider’s smirk, a mirror image of the kind Airachnid was fond of. “Not true, I'm afraid. Us techno-organics are a tricky lot, and so… our sparks simply don't work like yours.That being said, I'd be more than happy to just tear this place apart for her, if you really insist on being so stubborn.” He had a habit of playing with his talons while he spoke, rubbing the razors together and gathering sparks between the points. If they were as sharp as they looked, Optimus reserved the right to panic when Tarantulas brought one almost to the lens of his optic, as if planning to tap against it. 

“Optimus, don't!” Bulkhead’s weak plea managed to distract Tarantulas, but only for as long as it took for the spider to summon an amused smile.

“Your team thinks you have a choice in this. It's cute.”

Looking to Bulkhead, Ratchet, Bumblebee with his chirping whimpers and Arcee throwing herself against the webbing like a rabid animal, Optimus’ battlemask flexed from the scowl forming behind it. “I will not assist you, Tarantulas,” he declared, forcing his entire mass against the thick strands gluing him down, trying to force his weaponry out or his T-Cog into overdrive, anything to snap through the iron restraints.

Tarantulas just looked even more amused, on the verge of laughing at Prime’s squirming display of defiance. “If you're trying to show off, it isn't working very well.” A flick of his wrist sprayed even more fibers over Optimus’ servos, especially the fraying wrists and midsection. Then he detached his legs from the wall, using them to keep himself optic level with Optimus as he curled a claw along his jawplate, and it took all of Prime’s will power not to flinch away from the stinging caress. “Now, your faceplate is far too handsome to be carving up, so I'll just satisfy myself with someone else…”

Tarantulas turned himself around, surveying his other captives for only as long as it took for him to see Arcee still in front of him, still struggling and trying to chew through the web around her mouth.

“I think your sweetspark over there is getting a little jealous of all the attention I'm giving you,” Tarantulas said in a stage whisper to Optimus, baring his fangs when he smiled. The other Autobots, free to speak but with nothing to say, panic taking over their vocalisers, could only stare between Arcee, Optimus, and the demon crossing the space between them. 

Optimus already knew he had to give in even before Tarantulas made to slice through Arcee’s arms. “She is in the vaults. Further into the mountain,” he confessed, dipping his helm down as far as his gummed cables could manage. 

Still hovering by Arcee's side, Tarantulas watched the dismay spread on the other Autobots’ faces before pulling his claws back. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Even without the snarl buried in his tone, his voice was something corrosive in Optimus’ audios. The Prime’s frame swelled with hot anger under the thick web restraints, practically magnetised to Tarantulas as he approached again with an almost wistful expression. “If only we had more time, I could open you up in more ways than one, Optimus....” Whatever the spider’s razor legs were doing to where Optimus’ couldn’t see, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know. Talons played with his faceplate again, somehow less uncomfortable than Tarantulas’ vents buffeting so close to his frame and the intensity of his optics, like a predator weighing up his meal.  
Then he closed his optics, dropped his talons away with a flourish and a shrug, and the spell was cut apart. “Alas, my ship only has room for two, and I’m happily bonded anyway. Oh well. Maybe next time.” Tarantulas tapped against his cheek, reminiscent of a knife kissing across the metal, before whirling away and setting both peds on the ground, razors whizzing into storage places around his back and servos.

“As for the rest of you, don't go running off, I put a lot of work into those webs and I won't have you wrecking them,” he projected to the other Autobots as he walked across the foyer, pausing by Bulkhead somehow still suspended by such frail looking strings. “Especially you, chubby.” Tarantulas smirked and slapped the back of his talons against the Wrecker’s round chest, disappearing into the base’s vaults before Bulkhead could even find the strength to be offended.

Barely five klicks had passed, and Optimus was more disgusted than he'd ever been in centuries worth of war. He'd need a solar cycle long shower just to get the ghost of Tarantulas’ claws off of him.  
Though, that was assuming he'd ever manage to detach himself from the wall. And that Airachnid wouldn't have time for revenge when her sire found her.


	2. Chapter 2

Tarantulas scored his talons into each vault door as he passed it, peering in and seeing only trinkets he might have thought about stealing while he was already here. 

Later, though. He'd let Airachnid take whatever souvenirs she wanted when she was in his servos again.

As it happened, she was kept in the furthest away vault. Not in chains or cuffs, as if they'd even manage to keep her captive, but frozen in an Insecticon pod. He couldn't help smiling at the irony of her trapped by something she could so easily control, but mostly at seeing she was still as lovely as when she left for the call of the stars- and the chance to carve a few sparks up for herself, just like he taught her to.

The door crumpled under his claws, metal crunching apart as his legs forced the edges of the hole wider for him to walk through. He stopped just in front of the pod, weighing up the thick plates locked tight together and sealing his daughter in with her shocked, rightfully disgusted expression.

"Wakey wakey, darling..." He tapped at the thick glass between his face and hers, half-hoping she'd spring to life and free herself, but it was as effective as trying to nudge something printed on a screen. All the elegance she effortlessly carried, the confidence she wore as well as dress armour, completely erased in this mockery the Autobots made her into. 

His hand tensed, and suddenly the glass was gouged like knives tearing through energon butter. He half-imagined an Autobot's face underneath the scars, which helped keep his hands steady as they peeled away the plating holding the pod closed. Through trial and error and mostly blind savagery, he managed to shred through enough that there was a hiss of air rushing into the vacuum. Then the pod yawned open, and her pinned-open optics blinked once. Her jaw loosened, lips pressing together and just failing to hide her fangs. Her claws and back legs clicked together, servos falling to her sides and grazing the broken edges of her prison.

She blinked again, the frost over her optics burning away in the violet glow casting itself over Tarantulas. “...Father?” Her vocaliser was almost muted, from either disuse or shock, and it almost broke his spark in half to hear her so weak with lips trembling.

“Yes, sweetspark, it's me.” He held out his servos towards her, and she collapsed into them. She was never the type to cry, but her soft sobs were obvious even muffled against his chest. His talons were infinitely gentle on her helm, stroking the golden inlays and holding her close to him. “Shh, shh… it's okay. I'm here. I'm taking you back home.” He didn't need to raise his voice above a whisper, and he didn't trust it to stay stable at any higher volume. Now that she was in his arms he could feel her spark against his, a tangled chaos reaching for the calm relief radiating from his core. Whether the war or Megatron or just homesickness made such a mess of her, just being near her sire turned her frazzling EM field into a tranquil force barely buzzing against him.

With her servos tight around Tarantulas' waist, she forced her sobs silent when she pulled her helm back from his chest, settling her chin on his shoulder so her vents were stuttered tufts of air against his neck. “Took you long enough to get here," she muttered. Tarantulas had to laugh, recognising her tone from a thousand temper tantrums.

“Most of that time we, me and your mother, were still looking for you," he said, and Airachnid stiffened in his grip. She pulled back, legs hanging limp behind her as she stared up at him. 

"Is she here as well?" Again her voice was hushed, as if she was worried something too loud would break the illusion of her rescue.

"She's in the ship, but she threatened to pull all my legs off if I didn't get you back within a breem," Tarantulas answered, smiling only when she did with fangs glimmering.

"We better hurry the-" Airachnid tried to step forwards out of his embrace, but her primary legs suddenly failed. Stumbling and then sagging in his arms, her legs didn't so much shake as they just refused to move where she wanted them to.

"Are you alright, sweetspark?" Tarantulas asked, concern lighting up the honeycomb imprint of his optics. 

She nodded, though she could hardly pull herself back up. "Just... a little disoriented. I don't know how long I was in there for." 

Tarantulas cast a glance down the vault corridor, scowling at the thought of any Autobots he missed appearing out of nowhere if he lingered any longer. He'd have to leave the trinkets behind, but his processor just shrugged at the thought. "Come here, then." He hefted her up like she weighed no more than a Scraplet, ignoring her protest as he carried her. Though he could feel her annoyance seeping through she complied in wrapping her arms around his shoulders and legs around the rest of his frame, weaving into his own. She pressed her face into his neck cables, staring over his shoulder at the mangled remains of her prison fading quickly behind them both. 

"I missed you, Father..."

Tarantulas smiled even though he could feel coolant leaking from her optics again. "Not as much as I missed you."

He carried her in a gentle silence all the way up until the last corridor before the foyer, where she seemed to sense there'd be an audience waiting beyond for them. “Wait," she said quietly, and Tarantulas stopped to let her climb back down onto her peds. She could stand now, only wobbling slightly, and she swept her talons over her armour until each plate and seam was brushed immaculate.

Tarantulas was chuckling while she roughly scratched away the coolant tracks on her faceplate, blinking her optics clear. “Forever the queen, I see."

Airachnid glazed her glossa over a fang as she smirked at him, copying him by propping herself up on two back legs. "Well, it's only how you raised me," she pointed out.

"Of course." He held out something to her in a clutch of claws, a small patch of faded purple steel. The Predacon symbol, the same one Tarantulas bared on his abdomen, fit perfectly over the Decepticon emblem on her chest with some webbing to keep it applied. It would do until she could get it properly soldered, to finally rid herself of all Decepticon ties. 

With a light vent full of Autobot fear and crackling sparks saturating the air, she strode onward with her sire close behind. After the confines of her pod and the corridors, the foyer yawning open before her was almost colossal- especially with all the frames plastered along its walls. She'd seen similar sights during the war, learnt the technique herself, but she could never pull it off as well as her father with all the years he's had to perfect it. The webs sticking them down had ripped slightly from their struggles, but she'd be long gone by the time they managed to free themselves. Most only glared at her, though the scout seemed too scared to look anywhere that wasn't his own trapped peds. Arcee, almost hilariously, seemed to try dislocating her jawplate just so she could get around the web gag and hurl whatever insults she had stewing away at Airachnid. 

But honestly, the spider was never very interested in her or her friends. Only one mech seized her attention, the centerpiece of the room and the only one who'd managed to free one of his limbs. Optimus kicked his released right leg against the bonds of his left, chipping his ped against the fibers, too focused on escaping to notice Airachnid scuttling closer to him with honeycombs shining all over him.

Tarantulas paused before the elevator, looking back at Airachnid still milling below the platform. "Come on, sweetspark, we have a lot of light years to cover before we reach Regulon 4," he called down.

She turned her helm up to him, though stole glances aside at Optimus. “...Can't we take one of them with us?” she asked, catching shocked grunts and gasps from everyone else. Now Optimus chose to notice her, giving up on trying to ruin his hip joint and giving her a look of both confusion and hesitant horror. 

Tarantulas shot glares at the other muttering Autobots, displeased at the interruption, before turning a raised eyeridge on her. “Which did you have in mind?”

She had a sly grin ready even before she turned to Optimus, bringing herself next to him. Like with Tarantulas, he could only flinch away as much as the webbing would allow him, which was hardly at all. "I think you already know, Father.”

Tarantulas' eyeridge went higher, but he shook his helm almost sadly. “Darling, I doubt the ship would have any room for him.”

So Airachnid had no choice but to use her most deadly weapon against him; she summoned a pout, expertly crafted from years of being spoiled, complete with fluttering optics that seemed to dim the more they closed. “Please?”

Too many Autobots cried out at once in fury for Tarantulas to track them all, so he just webbed all of their mouths to be safe. Then he watched a genuine, rare brand of panic spread on Prime's faceplate that was poorly hidden by his battlemask, and even with his intensified thrashing Airachnid only seemed to drift closer to him. It really would be a shame to let him go to waste... 

"Alright, but you're carrying him onboard," Tarantulas decided.

And that was the day the Autobots could do nothing but watch their leader get dragged away like a corpse in a vacuum bag, by their very own prisoner and her father. In retrospect, Bulkhead didn't mind the 'chubby' comment so much now.


End file.
